


Crossed Lines

by Bobbie23



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode: s10e12 Line in the Sand, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22454494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobbie23/pseuds/Bobbie23
Summary: He’s all too familiar with being on the wrong end of a staff blast.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118





	Crossed Lines

_“There is nothing exceptional about today, except that today can be a day of new beginnings, of crossing lines in the sand, of deciding that you are sick of prison, and you want freedom.” Mike Erre_

In the end, Jack blames DC for it. It, being everything.  


In this particular instance, it’s the view from his office and the way the sun falls through the window onto his former second in command. The sun shines on her as she looks out over the grounds, distracting him from her words as Sam explains about her itinerary while she’s in the City. She poked her head around his door twenty-odd minutes ago to say ‘hi’. He already knows most of her meetings centre around the bean counters and her independent projects with the exception of one, which _luckily_ for him, he has the pleasure of attending about the cloaking device everyone is raving about.

  
Don’t get him wrong, he loves listening to Carter technobabble. She’s easier to listen to than any of the other scientists he’s ever encountered; he may not understand most of what she says but her voice is nicer. He’d just rather not have to listen to it inside a stuffy board room dressed in his stuffier dress blues.

  
Anyway, he’s still distracted by the sun reflecting in her eyes that he only manages to hear the tail end of her sentence about having to find a hotel for the weekend.

  
“You can stay with me,” he blurts out casually. The way her eyes snap to his and hold makes him second guess his choice of words. Remembering that ever-present invisible line between them, Jack hastens to add, “I have a spare room, there’s a bed in it.”

  
Sam flushes and drops her eyes to the floor. “Thank you, Sir, I’d like that.”

  
He blames DC for that too.

  
They’re back to ‘Sir’.

  
They’d both left the SGC with every intention of exploring their feelings for one another. They decided to go slow, give themselves time to get used to the changes in their lives, namely her father’s passing, Cassie moving away, Teal’c and Daniel leaving, their new assignments. They talked on the phone, had dinner whenever they were in each other’s town. She still fumbled over calling him Jack but she wasn’t calling him ‘Sir’ every few minutes. Just when he thought they were in a good place; Sam was recalled to the SGC and out of reach. That was over a year ago.

  
They both knew as soon as her orders were signed, they had to put aside whatever was brewing between them. Jack has always thought they have two lines between them, one connecting them and one they can’t cross.

  
“Look, I’ve got a few things to wrap up here. I’m not sure what time I’ll get home, so instead of picking my lock or breaking out the C-4,” He digs into his pocket for his keys and holds them out to her. “Let yourself in after your last meeting.”

  
“You actually lock your door, Sir?”

  
His lips quirk. He misses someone having the balls to tease him the way his old team does.

  
He blames DC for making him The Man. This man.

  
“They wouldn’t let me get a dog,” Jack sighs and jingles the keys at her.

  
“Ah,” is all she says as her mouth twists into a slight smile as she looks between him and the keys and back again. Something’s going on with her but he instinctively knows she’s not at the point where he can ask her about it. There’s another beat of indecision before her hand curls around the keys, her fingers sliding against his palm. “I’ll see you later, Sir.”

  
88888

  
Later is later than Jack cares for.

  
It’s late after a long day at the end of a long week when he finally walks through his front door. Booting the door shut behind him, Jack drops his case with a sigh and hangs his coat on the rack. His hand brushes against another, unfamiliar coat and his eyes linger on it. Breathing in, he gets a slight whiff of familiar perfume, applied long ago. Dropping his gaze to the floor, he finds a pair of black heels lined up against the wooden baseboard.

  
“Carter?” He calls up the stairs.

  
“Up here, Sir,” comes the reply. “I’m just getting changed.”

  
“Ah, okay,” Jack tries to ignore all the images going through his head. “You eaten yet?”

  
“Not yet.”

  
“I’ll rustle us up something,” Jack calls back. It’s been a long time since he hosted anyone, shared his space with anyone. He decides it’s easier it’s Sam who’s staying with him. She doesn’t expect a fuss or for him to try to impress her; she’ll be happy with beer and Chinese food. It’s nearing midnight and he doesn’t feel like waiting for delivery so they will have to settle for whatever is in the fridge.

  
It looks like Carter arrived shortly before he did and headed straight upstairs because the ground floor is shrouded in darkness. He moves away from the coat rack and switches on lamps as he passes. As he reaches the kitchen, he hears a bump and curse from the guest room above. He chuckles softly.

  
Flicking the switch to his right Jack’s kitchen is filled with light. He tugs at his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt as he crosses the tiled floor to the fridge. Peering in he grabs the box of eggs, the cheese and three beers. He dumps them on the counter next to his hob and returns for the butter and picks up the loaf of bread on the way back. He cuts the bread, ready to toast while the omelette is cooking, before cracking the eggs into a bowl and whisking with the third beer. He once promised to make this for her for breakfast but never got to honour it. It’ll have to be for dinner instead.

  
The door opens behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see Sam enter. Wearing her USAF tee and light blue pyjama pants, she looks almost comfortable. Jack lets his gaze travel down to her bare feet and smirks at the coral coloured toes poking out the end. He blames Cassie for knowing the nail polish is coral.

  
“Vala’s handiwork,” Sam announces with a fondness he never expected. Their eyes meet and she tilts her head to the side. “She cornered me in the infirmary, Sir,” she shrugs. “I couldn’t bend in the right way to shoo her away.”

  
“No one had your six, Carter?” He twitches at the reminder of her very recent stay in the infirmary, released with orders of light duties. He’s all too familiar with being on the wrong end of a staff blast.

  
“Teal’c thought it was hilarious,” Sam replies. “Cam was trying to ply his macaroons off on Siler.”

  
“Is he trying to take down everyone with those things?” Jack grimaces at the thought of the baked goods he’s heard about. They’re a biohazard at best. Sam laughs and moves to his rarely used breakfast bar when he gestures to it. “Take a load off, Carter.”

  
She slips onto a stool as he places a beer in front of her. She looks at it longingly. “Uh, actually, I’m going to get some water. I’m still on antibiotics.”

  
She climbs back off the stool and stands near the sink and looks around as they both realise she doesn’t know this house. He’d still been in the temporary apartment his assistant set up when he first came to DC when they used to have dinner before she had been recalled to the SGC.

  
He blames DC.

  
For the fact that he should’ve known Sam has a lingering infection, most likely from the emergency medical treatment Mitchell administered in the field. The guy saved her life but he had no control over the unsanitary conditions. He brought her home alive.

  
For the fact that he should’ve known the remaining members of SG-1 were leaning on each other in the face of Daniel’s latest decision to go walkabout.

  
For the fact that she should know where he keeps his glasses. Something she would’ve known if she hadn’t gone back to the SGC.

  
“Here,” Jack says and reaches up to the cupboard over coffee pot and toaster. He pulls out a glass and puts it under the running water. He passes it to her and sees she’s pulled a box of antibiotics out and pushes one onto the counter. She puts it in her mouth and swallows it with water.

  
He doesn’t let his gaze linger and turns his attention back to making the omelettes. “Omelettes good for you?”

  
“Sounds great,” Sam says. “Is there anything I can do?”

  
“Nah, I got it,” Jack replies and turns the gas on under a pan large enough to make one omelette to feed them both. The bread goes in the toaster. “You gave everyone quite a scare there Carter,” he comments as she avoids his gaze. He pours the egg mixture into the pan.

  
“Scared myself, Sir,” she hesitates and, once more, Jack wonders whether this was a good idea.

  
“I thought Mitchell was going to keel over on the ramp,” Jack adds.

  
“You were there?” The question is soft and wondering and it takes everything in him to stay focused on their food.

  
“Of course I was,” Jack tells her.

  
Sam’s brow scrunches. “I, uh, didn’t know.”

  
“You were unconscious,” Jack states. He’d managed to get transport in while she was still in surgery but an emergency with the IOA recalled him to Washington before she woke up. She had been out of surgery and stable and he hated leaving her.

  
He blames DC.

  
“My sparkling wit was required by arguing politicians,” he drawls sarcastically.

  
Jack adds the grated cheese to the eggs as they reach the right stage to fold. The toast pops up from the toaster and he puts it on a plate. He turns to place it on the breakfast bar and finds her eyes on him, searching for something.

  
“I, uh,” she falters. “You never said anything. No one said anything.”

  
“Landry kept me updated,” Jack assures her yet he still feels like an asshole because he asked Teal’c not to say anything. He feels like an asshole because she thought he didn’t care enough to show up. That they’ve drifted so far that she’s surprised he did.

  
He blames DC.

  
If he’s honest with himself, Jack can’t blame DC for being afraid of rushing things with her. After years of waiting for the right time, he was afraid of them becoming a reality, of screwing up that reality. They could’ve let it happen at the cabin and they could’ve been happy. Except he wanted to give her time after Shanahan, after her father. Now he’s trapped them in this situation.

  
He turns quickly to flip the omelette onto a plate to halve it. The cheese pulls into strings as he separates it.

  
“It was close,” Sam admits.

  
He grips the spatula tighter. Her voice is small and soft and everything he refuses to associate with Carter, the soldier. Then he realises this has nothing to do with Carter, Sir or any of the regulations keeping them in line. It has to do with Sam and Jack. That’s why she’s in his house.

  
“Why did you come to see me this afternoon Sam?” He asks quietly. He knows there’s something, he knew it when his assistant announced her arrival.

  
“Because I asked Cam to deliver my letters if I never made it back,” she replies just as quietly. “I didn’t think I was going to make it back, Jack.”

  
He turns slowly and finds she’s standing instead of sitting, her eyes filled with tears. He’s reminded of her standing in front of him after he caught a staff blast to the chest and her words.

  
“I’m really glad you’re okay, Sam,” he utters. He hates himself for not having the courage to say anything else, anything which crosses their line. She’s moving forward and his arms open to gather her to him. He breathes her in as she presses close, presses him against the counter behind so he can’t go anywhere. Her breaths are slow and deliberate as she settles and they hold each other.

  
Jack doesn’t keep track of time, content with holding her for as long as she needs.

  
“I once asked Daniel why we wait till the end to tell people we love them.”

  
Her words are muffled against his neck yet he hears them as though they were said through a loud-speaker. She pulls back when he doesn’t reply.

  
“I don’t want to tell I love you for the first time in a letter which is given to you after I die.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's a bit OOC. I've had this idea in my head since last year and I've rewritten this five times with five different beginnings. Would love to hear any feedback. I have also posted on FF.


End file.
